by Elena Monroe
Bowen was a predator that you took as weak on first glance. He had soft, feminine features, icy blonde hair, and was toned, but not muscular. His presence made you uncomfortable, but not threatened. Most mistook that as weak.
They couldn't be more wrong.
Zeus rounded the chair, and I felt his hands clamp down on my shoulders, kneading my muscles with a bear claw grip. “I like to mark my enemies with a Lichtenberg figure, because they remind me of lightning bolts. And do you know why, Victory?”
“Pausing like an asshole to ask a rhetorical question only makes you a bigger asshole. That could be why,” I spat out, not worried about what was coming next. Whatever came next, I could handle. My scarless body could use a real war wound.
Besides, when you’re already hurting internally in a place you can’t even dig your way to, it creates a protective layer around you, stopping anything else from hurting. Even my internal pain needed to be number one—untouchable.
Smirking down at my gusto, I struggled against the zip ties that might as well have been a straitjacket. His deep, rough voice continued, slipping right over my comeback expertly, “Because I give my enemies a one in a million chance to get back on my good side. Just like being struck by lightning.”
Taking out a switchblade, I almost let myself be caught off guard so much so that I almost flinched. I was never caught off guard, and now that I was paying even more attention to the consequences I had never faced before, I felt the adrenaline start to kick up. I was in the presence of a man who said fuck the consequences as much as I did, only he was holding a weapon.
Snapping upright, out of sight, Zeus was a one man monologue and wasn’t sick of his own voice. “I thought you were going to be a model employee. They told me you were the Golden Boy. The one named Victory. Now I hear that you’ve not only tried to kill Dante, but are doing nothing to keep our secrets buried. Tsk, tsk, that’s not a very good employee, is it?”
“She’s basically Clave too,” I spat out, knowing she wasn’t. I just wanted it to be true.
The sharp blade ran against my exposed forearm, after his right-hand man, Alba, took scissors to my dress shirt sleeves and cut upward so my forearms were exposed even more.
“She’s not Clave. Not even close. In fact, she’s so far removed that she’s targeting Clave members.”
Dragging the knife along my skin, I felt the first cut. It was sharp enough to move through my skin without much pressure, and when Zeus finally applied pressure, I felt my body shriek inwardly.
The pain Justice planted inside of me wasn’t protecting me anymore. The pain wanted me to suffer, unsatisfied with being unseen; now I would match my insides.
Tensing, I watched Bowen look scared for the first time in my life.
Nothing scared him.
No one scared him.
And I was pretty sure he likes sharp objects.
Balling up my fists, I took short, labored breaths, trying to fight the pain, but I knew better than anyone in the room that you can’t fight pain. You can only absorb it and process it.
“And just like that you’ve been struck by lightning. This is your one chance at surviving,” he whispered into my ear and slapped my cheek when he stood up.
Shifting my eyes downward, I looked at my arm as he dumped vodka into my open fucking wounds. My jaw clenched so hard that I thought my teeth would break against each other under the pressure—the same kind of pressure I put myself under to be their Golden Boy, until I met Justice, who thought under pressure was just a song.
The pain created a disillusionment as the room got hazy and my head got dizzy.
Bowen rushed to my side, once they were out of sight, I’m sure, and used the same scissors to cut the zip ties. His face looked horrified at the amount I was bleeding still.
I wasn’t scratched; I was cut deep. Not to wound, but to hopefully kill.
Sitting back, I tilted my head up to have one last look at Heaven, because we all knew I was going to Hell.
Everything seemed to fade into silence, and I let the pain engulf me the way it wanted to. I was already halfway home, and who knows? Maybe I’d be their Golden Boy too.
Whatever it takes to win… no, to survive.
GRIMM
Without much attention on them, I stood in the doorway, facing the other side of the door frame. “Where is everyone? Why does some bullshit always happen when I come in?”
Bowen was in front of Vic with his shirt removed, and I’m not ashamed to assume something private was happening.
Maybe Bowen was finally comfortable coming out.
Maybe that was what we always sensed.
When he moved, my focus finally zoned in on the scissors, the blood, and Bowen’s shirt wrapped around Vic’s arm.
“What the fuck…?” I bit out, shocked still.
“He needs a doctor…” Bowen’s voice shook, and I knew whatever was going on was serious. This wasn’t one of the normal disasters I had walked right into before.
I didn’t want a better look, but being blind wasn’t a real choice anymore. I peeled up Bowen’s makeshift tourniquet, now noticing him shirtless for the first time since the Patmos swim team.
The cuts were deep and made this pattern that looked like tree branches, but it was hard to tell with all the blood. Wrapping Vic’s arm up tighter, I hoisted him up.
With all the bad shit we had to survive, you’d think we’d have already banded together, but it wasn’t until this moment, that I saw just how weak we were individually.
Picking us off in this insulting way was almost easy. I knew we were all weakened from this life, but easy? We aren’t easy.
Hoisting him up, I pulled his arm around my neck and held my other arm around his waist, keeping his limp body upright.
Vic was folding under the pain. No one had ever tried to hurt him before, except for me, failing miserably. I only made him compliant instead.
Just like my monster was responsible for me, now was I responsible for Vic? When I left Jason behind, I left a spot vacant that Vic slipped right into, and he unknowingly sank into the Clave neck deep.
Leaving the office, I left Bowen standing there, still shell shocked and shirtless, which only made him seem even more vulnerable. His eyes were deader than normal, and I could see the tremor in his hands, except he was sober.
“Bowen! Let’s go!” I shouted behind me. If I had a free hand, I would have pulled him right along, but it was taking more strength than I wanted to admit to carry Vic to the elevators.
Waiting for the doors, I shifted my attention to Bowen. “What the fuck happened?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Clave traditions and it’s blood have been running through my veins for too long to not respect secrets.
“Zeus happened. Justice happened. Abigail happened. You rocked the damn boat, and now we’re all drowning. You couldn’t have just followed the rules?” His voice was strained, shaken, and out for blood, even mine.
All the creepy vibes he normally gave off were unreliable, and they suddenly became sinister without trying. He was being punished for all the shit we were stirring up, by dealing with the fall out just like Vic’s downfall, landing right at his feet.
“Marrying your childhood best friend isn’t the end of the world. You’re still following the rules like a charmed snake. No harm, no foul.”
“Don’t fucking talk to me like I’m a child, Reaper. I don’t hate our lives. I don’t hate the rules. I don’t need to change…”
I looked at him, still holding up the weight of our decisions by myself while he skirted around deciding to stand with us or not. He needed to accept the thought of happiness more than any of us.
He wanted to be death so badly that he didn’t even realize how much he was living out that fantasy.
Once the elevators opened into the garage, I shouted behind me, demanding he meet me at my house. The butterfly doors on my McLaren were not helpful, and I had to shove Vic inside my car and come to terms with the idea that th
ere would be blood. I’d have it detailed later. The whole way to my house, his face pushed against the window and Bowen’s shirt soaked up his blood; it was symbolic of their friendship.
Vic would think he’s untouchable, when in reality Bowen just took everyone’s licks for them. I wasn’t sure if it was because he could handle them better than the rest of us or simply that what is bred in pain knows no better.
Either way, it didn’t make us better people—only better at escaping accountability for our actions.
Hoisting Vic up again, Bowen pulled in behind my car and took his time to help me get him inside, where we could clean him up and let him sleep it off. Whatever damage was done to his arm was irreversible now.
As soon as we got inside, I forced Bowen to bear the weight of Vic on his own as I took Abigail’s hand. She was ready to pop, and I was on edge every minute of every day waiting for that text or call. She spotted the blood before her eyes landed on mine. “What happened to Vicy?”
A hard sigh escaped me at her adopting his nickname. “I don’t know yet. Can you round up whatever kind of band aids we have?”
Her eyes widened when the shirt fell from his arm, exposing what looked ripped to shreds and red from all of the blood. Some had dried, and some was still pouring out of his wounds. “I don’t think band aids are gonna do it, Grimm. Are you kidding me? Do you know how long it takes to get blood off of anything?”
Her concern turned to annoyance as she scampered off to find supplies. I shouted after her. “You were the one bitching about being bored. Take it or leave it.”
“Okay, Jason. I’m only entertained by this, because it makes you uncomfortable,” she spat back, just as feisty as before she was pregnant. Abigail was unwavering in who she was, unlike me, who still dealt with the three versions of myself daily, but her monster kept me in my place: pinned to being Grimm, the one she fell in love with.
There was a guest room downstairs, making avoiding the modern stairs easier. I tossed his body on the bed and waited for Abigail. She breezed in the room so effortlessly, even being eight months pregnant, with one hand full of various bandages and the other holding her phone, seemingly not noticing anything around her. Standing behind her, I read the text messages, without her even trying to hide the fact that she was breaking all the rules I had set for her.
ABIGAIL: You need to stop now. Vic is getting caught in the crossfire. He’s really hurt. He’s going to end up dead.
JUSTICE: Pretty sure no one kills Vic without some kind of permission from the Golden Boy himself. I gotta go—more havoc to wreak.
Moving her chocolate hair off her shoulder, I leaned in whispering into her ear, “Wreak what havoc exactly, Abigail? Full transparency.”
She tensed, realizing I wasn’t admiring her, but the exchange she was having in my presence. “She’s been sending a message, threatening all your dads. I think she wants them to pay for what they did to her.” Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke and dropped her phone down by her side.
My body matched hers, tensing under the truth in the room that everyone knew, except Vic. He acted outraged that her parents died at the Hunt, so imagine how he was going to combust this time when he knew the whole truth.
Bowen was right: Once you break one rule, it's hard to stop.
VIC
I woke up to Grimm’s smokey voice, and his shoe hitting the end table came into focus. I clamped my eyelids down harder. The kind of pain radiating from my forearm felt exactly how Zeus threatened: like lightning scorching my skin.
I was afraid to look at it, so I felt around for my phone instead, unable to find it without rolling over onto my arm for more reach. Disoriented, I gave up. “What time is it?”
“We have to start heading to the Grove. You’ve been asleep a few days now. It’s healing well, and we can wrap it again before we head out.” His voice sounded further and further away as his sentence went on. When I opened my eyes, he wasn’t even in the room anymore.
“What the fuck did you give me?” I knew myself, and right now, I was dulled down to a flat edge—not at all equipped to protect myself.
Grimm didn’t bother shouting back as I sat up, trying to regain composure. Abigail stepped inside the room carefully, like she wasn’t supposed to be here. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. He was fiercely protective, and I was the one ready to kill her before.
“You okay? Those cuts are healing weird. I’ve never seen anything like it…” Sitting down on the bed next to me, I couldn’t help but stare at her swollen belly. Noticing my staring, she took the hand of my injured arm and rested it lightly on her belly. “Even if it doesn’t work out with Jus, you’ll find this kind of happiness with someone.”
She was speaking like I had already lost.
Maybe I had, and I was too stubborn to see it.
Maybe I was unwilling to lose, and that’s what was keeping me from winning her back.
Maybe I had to figure out who I am before I could understand how Justice decided to like who I am before I got to.
I wasn’t the Golden Boy. I wasn’t Vic the Dick. I wasn’t even Justice’s Vicy. I’m just Vic—the ruins of a fabricated man brought to his knees by a woman all too authentic.
I was just coming alive, and my motivation was still giving me the silent treatment.
“I don’t want anyone else,” I said, just as the baby kicked against my hand. “See? Even your baby demon agrees with me.”
Slapping my shoulder, she playfully recoiled against my touch and started looking at my arm with more precision. “Are you okay with some scars, Mr. Perfect?”
“For her? I’d be covered in them. Death before dishonor.” Putting my good arm around her neck, I yanked her close, trying to comfort myself under the guise of comforting her while she wrapped my arm in fresh gauze.
There was this comfort to Abigail, knowing she was close to Justice, like I got to share the piece of her Abigail still had.
Loving her by proxy.
“Vic! Let’s go!” Grimm shouted again, and I stood up, still in my dress pants with no shirt. Looking around, Abigail pointed to the neatly folded clothes on the dresser in the room before giving me a sympathetic look.
I knew that look. It was the one my stepmommy would give me when I refused to shake the hand of losers. She said it was the least I could do if I was going to continue to act like a sore winner.
Win or lose, it was all sore now.
The Hunt was better than Bohemian Grove in my not so humble opinion. There was no other way to put it.
Bohemian Grove was a fucking bonding session in the woods way past civilization and the comforts of being me. It was another Clave event that we were required to attend, only this one forced the four of us together the whole time.
We were still all separate books on the same shelf, but still not even in the same troupe or genre. We came together to see Grimm get his happy ending, because let’s be real, if death can find a way to be happy, then the rest of us couldn’t be that fucked.
Now that he had set a tone, I was being forced to surpass it if I wanted to clutch onto the control and glory of winning her.
The only company I wanted right now was alcohol, some medical grade marijuana, and my bed. I wasn’t ready to be over the self-loathing process of being sucker punched twice.
No one even waited for me to be ready.
Everything smelled like Servants of Patmos out here. It was probably close by, but none of us were even allowed to know the address to Bohemian Grove. Everyone drove to a specific parking lot, and vans would take you down a dirt road until they let you out in the middle of the woods.
Everything was a secret within a secret.
When Grimm’s McLaren pulled up onto the gravel, I groaned loudly, not wanting to get out. My eyes were still heavy with the fog of whatever fucking pills had been shoved down my throat while I was passed out. The short sleeve shirt I was wearing exposed the fresh set of gauze on a pattern only left on victims
struck by lightning. Now I was even more of a rarity, as if my competitor's mind and razor sharp ability to lead wasn’t already rare enough.
Slamming the door shut, I looked around for friendly faces when Bowen’s Aston Martin pulled up next to Grimm’s car, like Khaos’s personal Uber. Skateboarding this far would have taken him days.
“Hey, you good?” I stretched my arms and legs, while I waited for our van into the wilderness, as Bowen stared at me through his window.
He shook his head, barely looking back at me through the rolled down window, before he fished out a bottle of Hennessy and twisted the cap off. Khaos hopped out, with a cloud of smoke pouring from the car behind him, as the door opened. Great, they were hot boxing and drinking their way to Hell on earth, while I was riding shotgun to Sober Sally.
When we were younger, before I shifted into being Vic the Dick, we used to take LSD and get drunk together—anything to make being in the woods with Clave more fun. Since growing apart, we all kept our ways of dealing to ourselves.
Where could I get some Justice for this weekend? Oh, right… she isn’t talking to me.
Shooting her a text before I knew our phones would be confiscated, all I typed out was: Don’t pretend you aren’t turned on by me protesting in your absence, and I won’t pretend that you scaring the shit out of my dad doesn’t turn me on.
Khaos strutted over with a Ziplock bag in his hands. “Boys, pick a hand.”
Trying to examine the bag and all the colorful pills, I said, “Fuck it. I don’t care what it is.” I held out my hand and let him bestow a mystery pill in my palm that had the Clave symbol on it and was a Bisquick color, like pancake batter.
He turned to Grimm, who shook his head and stared him down.
“Come on, man! We just got the band back together,” Khaos whined, like a child who was told no more candy after 8 p.m., until Grimm took the pill from his hand.
Slapping Grimm’s back, I watched him actually swallow it, instead of tongue the pill and wait for us to not be looking to spit it out how I thought he would.
Maybe happiness isn’t supposed to be easy. Maybe it's just supposed to be the realization that you deserve it. Maybe that’s the whole point.
